


In the Time of Stones

by magicgenetek



Series: Like Comets Around the Sun [1]
Category: Babylon 5
Genre: (though people who have trouble with eye gore should beware), Aftermath of Torture, Assassination, Confessions, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hangover, Hurt/Comfort, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutilation, Revolution, Season/Series 04, Snark, Torture, a great deal of this deals with the aftermath, and there is a lot of sassy aliens sassing each other and befriending each other, most of the nasty stuff is offscreen, warnings apply to cartagia shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicgenetek/pseuds/magicgenetek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under the burning eye of Cartagia, the only people Vir, Londo and G'Kar can turn to is each other. Londo gains and loses a second chance, G'Kar sees things he could not before, and Vir begins to grow up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Erosion

**Author's Note:**

> This section takes place just after the whipping scene in 4x3, The Summoning.
> 
> A ton of thanks to Avelera for helping me write and tame this fic!

With the scream, G’Kar’s legs finally gave way and he collapsed. His head lolled against the bottom of the whipping pillar.

Londo stayed where he was, half-covering Vir from Cartagia’s gaze. Cartagia didn’t need to see how this upset Vir. Cartagia didn’t need to see Londo so worried over G’Kar that he ran to him. He needed G’Kar for the assassination, nothing more. If there was some storm brewing in the pit of his stomach, raining worry, it was for that and that alone.

Cartagia laughed. “Lovely! Now, what shall we do with him next?”

Londo took his shriveled up voice and yanked it out. “There’s a next, majesty?”

“We can’t just leave him there,” Cartagia said. He reached behind his throne and pulled out a jug of water and a glass much like the ones a noble had used to taunt G’Kar earlier. “Now that he’s given me my scream, why don’t you make sure he doesn’t die? He is my gift to you, and I know you’d hate to lose him without playing with him.”

Londo looked back to Vir. Vir, pale-faced, nodded to him: _go; I can be alone_. Londo went and took the glass and jug from Cartagia. He carried them over to the pillar and knelt at G’Kar’s side.

G’Kar did not stir.

His eyes had dimmed to embers. His back was a waterfall of red, bloody with broken skin where the burns had not cauterized crimson. His robe was already stained with stray drops of blood. His face had the softness of sleep; he stirred when Londo poured the water into the cup, a faint noise, but he did not react. It took a long moment for his eyes to focus when Londo cupped his clammy face, and he mouthed the first syllable of Londo’s name before Londo took the glass of water and tipped it against G’Kar’s mouth.

G’Kar was too woozy to refuse it. He drank deeply. Londo wondered if it was the effects of the whip and the torture and three days without water finally bearing down on him, or if the effort of letting himself scream that had done it.

Londo looked back to Cartagia, who clapped. “Delightful! He can’t refuse you now, can he?”

“He can’t, majesty,” Londo said, smiling. Vir stepped away, shame-faced, silent, safely out of Cartagia’s line of sight. All the emperor wanted to see was the spectacle of Londo and G’Kar.

When he turned back, he could see a flinch fading from G'Kar's face. When Londo let go of his face, G'Kar slumped against the pillar. He watched as Londo poured another glass and did not, more likely could not, resist when Londo took his face again and pressed water to his lips. He made a low sound of protest, and Londo hissed and dug the glass's edge into a cut on G'Kar's lip. Even now, with the danger of death, he clung to his pride; the only thing that kept him from doing more, Londo suspected, was the sheer volume of pain he was in.

The fire in G’kar’s eyes started to burn again. Londo poured a third glass and watched G’Kar begin to tremble; when Londo took his face this time, G’Kar shook with the effort of turning away.  Londo dug his nails into G’kar’s skin so he’d stay still and forced the glass to his lips. He twitched his face toward Cartargia: _play along or you’re going to get us both killed_! G’Kar followed Londo’s gaze, then flickered to the back of the room, where Vir was trying to keep his dinner down, and let himself go limp.

Footsteps. In a room this quiet, they echoed as loud as the whip cracks. Londo flinched, and G’Kar elbowed him, as if to say that he shouldn’t be getting upset about it now. Londo nodded - and how could G’Kar be so casual about it when his back was still freshly opened by the whip? How could it not drag at his mind? - in time for Cartagia to perch across from him on the balls of his feet, trapping G’Kar between them. “Now what?”

Londo’s hand dropped to G’Kar’s robe and tugged it toward him, away from Cartagia, and G’Kar’s forehead bumped against his chest. He certainly couldn’t have G’Kar getting killed because Cartagia got bored. “He’s not in much of a state for fun, sire. You took most of the life out of him with that scream.”

G’Kar made another noise of protest, one that Londo really hoped had gotten muffled by his chest. He was not dying for Narn pride!

Cartagia dipped a finger into a bloody gap in G’Kar’s back. Londo felt G’Kar stiffen and his face twist against his chest, and tightened his grip on G’Kar’s shirt. If G’Kar wanted to be proud, then fine, Londo would go along with it if it kept them both alive. He needed him for the assassination plot. Why else would he have a large, bloody Narn practically in his lap in front of the emperor if not for practical reasons?

Cartagia shoved his nails in the wounds. G’Kar twitched into Londo, and Londo put a hand on G’Kar’s shoulder to steady him. Cartagia smiled. “Good. Hold him steady for me,” he said, and he dug in and peeled back skin with a sickening squelch. G’Kar shuddered, and Londo pressed his knuckles against G’Kar’s chest as a counterpoint to focus on and tried not to think about what lay over G’Kar’s shoulder.

If he let this go on, it would end in Cartagia wearing G’Kar as a skin, Londo holding a dead Narn, and Vir undoubtedly drawing the emperor’s ire by being ill. He couldn’t allow that.

“Do you have any brivari?” he asked.

“Brivari?” asked Cartagia. He tilted his head, toying with a small flap of skin. “Whatever for?”

“To toast your victory in pulling sound from a stone,” Londo said. He plucked Cartagia’s hand away from G’Kar’s back and kissed his palm. Cartagia’s fingers drifted over Londo’s cheek, leaving bloody streaks in their wake. “Or from someone as ugly and silent as a stone. I could bring some from my quarters, aged thirty years, which has been waiting for an occasion such as this.”

Cartagia’s face lit up. “That’s brilliant,” he said, and popped to his feet. “I’ll have a guard send for it.”

“If it would please you,” Londo said, voice careful, “I shall send my aide to bring it. He knows my bedroom better than your guards do, I believe, since I keep him there so long.”

Cartagia giggled. “Oh, yes, I’m sure he would. I’ve seen how you dote on him.” He clapped his hand. “Go on, then. Fetch the brivari.”

Vir hesitated; it looked like he’d managed to stamp down his queasiness enough that his hands weren’t on his mouth anymore, but his skin was the color of spoiled milk. “Londo, should I get the brivari from the north or the south? I want to give the his majesty what he would like the best,” he asked in the court-formal voice Londo had taught him, with only a high note at the end that asked _should I leave you alone with him?_

“My emperor, what would you prefer?” Londo asked.

Cartagia clapped his hands together. “Northern.” He turned to Londo and winked. “All good things come from the north.”

Vir nodded, taking a last glance at Londo and G’Kar, and fled the torture room.

Cartagia circled the two of them. Londo dared to glance down at G’Kar, who still had his face buried in his chest. Tremors rocked through him, punctuated with moments of horrible stillness; it was a wonder he was still conscious, Londo thought. It would have been kinder if he had fainted after the whipping.

“If you’re done with him,” Londo said, bravery spiking through him, “would consider releasing him into my custody? I would like to enjoy the gift you so graciously gave to me.”

“Hmm,” went Cartagia. Then he clapped his hands. “Guard, guard!” The guard with the whip came, and Cartagia pointed him to the ropes binding G’Kar to the pillar. “Londo,” said Cartagia, and pointed a few feet away, “stand there.”

Londo flattened his hand against G’Kar’s chest, then counted down with his fingers there: three, two, one. He dropped him as gently as he dared against the pillar, face carefully blank; G’Kar slumped there, face slack with exhaustion, mouthing soft-cornered words as if praying. He did not meet Londo’s eyes. Londo shuffled back on his knees, then stood. The guard untied G’Kar. Cartagia whispered something in the guard’s ear, then smiled mischievously at Londo. The guard picked G’kar up by the armpits and dragged him over to Londo, dropping him at his feet. G’Kar caught himself on his hands and knees before his face could hit the floor, then collapsed, leaving him bowed over in front of Londo.

“What?” said Londo. He stared down at G’Kar for a long, horrified moment as a rock plummeted from his throat to the storm in his stomach and his chest grew cold.

There was breath on the back of his neck. Londo gasped as Cartagia wrapped his arms around his shoulders from the back. “He’s yours, isn’t he?” Cartagia asked. “Why don’t you show me what you’ll do with him? I want to see.” He picked up the brooch on Londo’s neck and dropped it playfully. “Will you torture him? I don’t think you will. That’s not your style. He’s more of a pet, isn’t he? That’s why you want him alive. You’ll keep him around on a leash so he can watch you do everything he would have stopped you from doing, and he’ll know that you have won.”

No, Londo thought. His blood was ice. He stared down at G’Kar, who did not move. “That would be lovely, your majesty,” he said, and his head was ice. Once, long ago, he would have longed to thwart G’Kar at every opportunity; he would have loved to see him on his knees.

But not as a pet.

Not like this.

And what if G’Kar believed it? If he resisted and got himself killed, if he let himself die instead of letting it happen, if he told Cartagia to spite him, the plan would be ruined.

Cartagia laughed again, warm breath against his ear. "I'm almost envious of you, Mollari. What a joy it would be to have one such as this forever crouched at my heels, an enemy to watch my rise to glory and ascendance to godhood. But perhaps a beloved servant would do as well,” he added, and two fingers idly traced Londo’s throat. “It would suit you ever so well.”

“What?” asked Londo, a croak.

“A collar."

"Following you forever," Londo said, contemplating the horror of it before he recovered himself, "is surely too great an honor for one such as me. I don’t know what to say."

“Say you don’t deserve it,” said Cartagia, “but you’d love it. I know you would. If I met someone greater than me, if that were possible, I’d follow him forever, just as you follow me and your pet follows you.” He leaned on Londo and added conversationally, “He’s up.”

Londo looked down. G’Kar had forced himself up onto his knees. Each breath rattled him. He glanced at Cartagia, then up at Londo. A shadow of a smile flitted over his face. _Look what I can still do, Mollari!_

Idiot, Londo thought, bastard, twit. Was he trying to get killed? Even an animal knew how to play dead. He put his hand on G’Kar’s head and pushed. “Stay down. I have not told you to come up. You will have to obey orders around here, just like the rest of us.”

G’Kar huffed; a smile shadowed his face again. He sat down, hands folded, and looked up at him again.

He trusts me, Londo thought. Even if it’s just to play it up so he doesn’t get killed. I hadn’t expected that. He leaned down and patted G’Kar’s head; G’Kar flinched away, and Londo grabbed his chin and forced him to look up. G’Kar raised his brows at him, as if to ask what better could he want for acting? “Maybe we can make a decent pet out of you yet.”

“Will you teach him tricks?” Cartagia asked.

“Usually you need treats to teach an animal a trick,” Londo replied. “I do have an idea, though. Would you like to watch from your throne?”

“I do love a show,” said Cartagia. He ambled there and sat, leaning forward with anticipation.

Londo shifted his hand and shoved his face down. “On your belly.” He didn’t know if G’Kar would do it willingly, but he wouldn’t take the chance; he pressed hard and G’Kar collapsed under the pressure, face and chest to the ground. Londo smiled and knelt down in front of him. “Good. Now, sit up.”

G’Kar growled; Londo grabbed him by the chin and pulled as G’Kar sat up, giving the impression of yanking.

“Good. Now, shake.”

G’Kar smiled thinly; a tremor ran through his body once more. Londo rolled his eyes. “Not that kind of shake. You are performing for the Centauri emperor, a living god. This is the most important performance of your life. Now give me your hand.”

G’Kar glanced to the side, to Cartagia, for a moment, then offered his hand. Londo took it and pressed fingers against it again: three, two - G’Kar nodded slightly - one, and he yanked G’Kar into his lap.

“So, your majesty,” Londo said, and he began to pet G’Kar’s head and neck as if he were a fussing child, “are you enjoying your own private Narn show?”

“I am, very much,” Cartagia said. He leaned forward. “Why hasn’t anyone else gotten him to do this? Why only you?”

“Because _we_ are the ones who broke him,” Londo replied without missing a beat. “Most of your courtiers are unimaginative, not like you are. G’Kar is a member of the Kha’Ri, and is more stubborn than most Narns; it takes a living god like you to make him bow, and your majesty’s humble servant, me, to make him dance for you.”

G’Kar elbowed him in the ribs. Londo hid his wince so the emperor wouldn’t notice and have G’Kar killed for his impudence, then nudged him in return. G’Kar groaned and settled against Londo’s shoulder. Londo decided that if he out of this alive, he'd go right to his quarters and drink the entire bottle of 30 year old brivari in one sitting. He could not handle a night like this, with G’Kar bleeding on his lap, without a lot of alcohol at the end of it.

Cartagia tittered; he placed his hand delicately on his chest. “What other tricks can he do?”

“He was born a slave. I’m sure he knows plenty. I just need to find them out,” Londo said.

“Make him speak,” Cartagia said. He leaned forward, bright-eyed.

“You heard him,” Londo said.

G’Kar sucked in a breath, then said in careful Narn, “I wish he was more inbred so his chin would take over his face and make him unable to speak.” Another pause, then, back in Centauri, “May the Emperor bear the fruits of his line.”

“Is that what he said? I don’t speak Narn.”

Londo nodded very quickly. “I can verify that yes, that is what he said in his tongue.” There was that faint smile on G’Kar’s face again, and Londo grimaced at him in return. It really wouldn’t work if G’Kar made him laugh during a serious moment.

Cartagia stared at them, his hand making slow circles on his chest. “Make him beg now.”

“Beg?” Londo said. “Beg for what?”

“Anything,” Cartagia said. “For your love. For the privilege of living past the dawn. Just make it entertaining.”

Londo looked down at G’Kar. What would he - Great Maker, would G’Kar even answer this command? He was proud and he’d already been forced to lose his Narn pride once today, to stay alive for the sake of his people; would he do it again?

But G’Kar was already moving, backing off Londo with mincing steps. He went until he had room to spare, then bowed, forehead to the floor. “I beg,” he said, and his voice cracked. His hands tightened; his knuckles went pale. “I beg you to let me serve you, Mollari,” G’Kar said, and Londo could hear the tears in his voice.

Londo could not respond. He hadn’t meant for this. He hadn’t meant to actually break him! He didn’t want this!

He could hear Cartagia’s breath, fast and shallow, ringing in his ears.

G’Kar crawled up, his face at the edge of Londo’s knees. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To put me on a leash?” He looked up, and his smile was slashed wide with the beginnings of hysterical laughter. “We never got along on the station. Ever since Ragesh 3, ever since we met, you’ve wanted this.”

Londo did not respond. He felt as if ice enclosed him. He felt G’Kar dig fingers into his leg on the side the emperor couldn’t see, and G’Kar raised his brows again. _What’s wrong, Mollari?_

He shook his surprise off. He couldn’t let himself get shocked now. How was G’Kar putting on such an intense performance now, bled half to death? “Remember,” he said, and tapped G’Kar’s nose lightly, “it is not me you serve, but the emperor. I am only his intermediary so that he may be entertained properly.”

“That’s right,” Cartagia breathed. “You shall both serve me.” He pressed his fingers hard against his chest; Londo realized, to his disgust, that he could see movement under the many layers of clothing. His hearts were playing a fast tempo now. Cartagia said, “Now, give him a reward.”

“How?” Londo asked. Painkillers, he thought, bandages, medical treatment so he doesn’t end up dying of infection tomorrow, come on, Ilarus the lucky one!

Cartagia leaned back against his throne and thought, both hands now dancing over his chest. “I have had the most brilliant idea for it,” he announced, and leaned forward once more. “Kiss him.”

Londo felt his stomach drop. Then he felt G’Kar moving to sit up and Londo quickly braced him so he would not fall. “But your majesty,” he said as G’Kar moved to prepare himself, and looked to Cartagia, “that would be like kissing an animal.”

“I know,” Cartagia said. Londo’s eye was unwillingly, inexorably drawn to movement under cloth, around fingers. “You train animals with treats, don’t you? And what could be a better treat for a Narn than a kiss from a Centauri? Now do it.”

He looked back to G’Kar. G'Kar gave Londo a look of long suffering - not of actual suffering, no, but the kind of exasperation Londo usually saw on G'Kar's face during frustrating ambassadorial meetings, the kind that usually ended in them drunk and bickering in the Zocalo afterwards. As if to say: _can you believe this idiot?_

Londo chuckled. He wished they could blow Cartagia off to go the Zocalo and argue about if human females or human males looked better. He wished they could go hit on dancers and have a competition of who could receive more flirting in return. He wished they could get into another stupid fistfight and Mr. Garibaldi would pull them apart and then they’d end up drinking with him in his office. He wished, he wished, he wished, but look at how his last wish had ended up: billions dead and Cartagia on the throne. He could not wish. He kissed G’Kar.

G’Kar tasted like blood. His lips were crusty with it where the skin wasn’t cracked and peeling. He clung to Londo for stability with shaking hands. Londo kept him there, holding him by the elbows, and G’Kar made a soft, helpless noise for him.

He’d never associated G’Kar with helplessness. He was a living earthquake. What was this? Had he hurt him in a way he had not thought of? The thought sent ice through his veins again.

“I never expected you to be so yielding,” he said, a question wrapped in an arrogant tone. “I didn’t realize you had a taste for Centauri.”

“After your wife, I got curious,” G’Kar replied, and a laugh shook out of him.

“And here I was hoping she’d bitten whatever it is you used off, the viper,” Londo said, and he kissed him again.

G’Kar laughed against his lips, and Londo had to pull G’kKr toward himself before he tipped over. Cartagia had slipped a hand under his shirt, and Londo tried to ignore the sounds Cartagia made as Londo sucked at G’Kar’s lip and G’Kar laughed like a stone breaking.

“Keep going,” Cartagia breathed. “Tell me more.”

G’Kar couldn’t stop laughing. “I thought it would be funny,” he wheezed, “to cuckold Mollari, not knowing that,” wheeze, “I’d end up doing the reverse later!”

Londo kissed him before he could say something that got them both killed. G’Kar kissed back like a punch, his hands resting on Londo’s waist, and Londo felt wetness on G’Kar’s cheeks when their faces moved together.

The door opening was like a thunder crash. “I brought the brivari,” Vir said breathlessly, and Londo could see the gears in his head come to a screeching halt as he saw Londo and G’Kar.

Londo pushed G’Kar away, and G’Kar’s face sank to his shoulder. “Good,” Londo said. “Pour his majesty and myself some glasses, would you?”

“Yes, right away,” said Vir, who took one look at Cartagia’s squirming shirt and then stared very pointedly at the bottle of brivari as he poured drinks. “Your majesty, how much would you like?”

“Not much,” said Cartagia. “I want to be able to keep my hands free.”

“Fill mine to the brim,” Londo said as Vir quickly served the emperor, then hurried over to him and G’kar. “I want my toast to the emperor to be a grand one.”

“Of course,” Vir said, and he poured a tall glass of brivari for Londo.

Londo let go of GKar and took it, raised it high. “To the emperor.”

“To me!” Cartagia cheered, and drank.

Londo drained half his glass, then stared at it longingly. Really, what he was about to do was stupid and a waste of good alcohol, but the longer he put it off, the worse it would be for G’Kar. “Your majesty, should we have my pet toast you?”

“Do you think a pet should drink fine brivari? I don’t think so,” said Cartagia. “Maybe if you had him lick it off the floor.”

“Maybe,” Londo said. “Did you know that alcohol, when it falls against an open wound, is very painful?”

“Go on,” said Cartagia.

Londo upended the glass of brivari on G’Kar’s back. G’Kar tensed, shuddered, became a limp, dead weight on Londo’s shoulder. “You see, majesty? It’s quite painful.”

“It is,” Cartagia said. He was silent for a long moment, his shirt undulating. “I think I’m going to keep him for myself for a while longer. He’s too much fun to give away yet. Besides,” he added, “I want a repeat performance.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Londo said, and screamed internally. They had been so close to getting out! He waited for some kind of pinch or strained look from G'Kar, an indication that as many curse words were running through his head as there were in Londo’s, but none came. He tapped his shoulder; no reaction. He pushed G'Kar off him, and found his head lolling. “I don’t think we can do any more tonight, though. He has fainted.”

“And just as we were just getting to the good part, too,” Cartagia moaned. He looked over to the guard, and Londo let himself relax. Finally, the spotlight of Cartagia’s gaze was not burning on him. “That was rather exciting, wasn’t it?”

"Your majesty," the guard said, and Londo looked at him briefly; he wanted to check that he’d covered all of G’Kar’s whip wounds with brivari, since he suspected that was the only sterilizing agent he would get in this place. The man's face was carefully blank, with only a flicker around the eyes showing his fear. "If I have pleased you with my duty, then it was exciting."

The guard knew how to step carefully around Cartagia. Good for him. Londo had no sympathy to spare for Cartagia’s whipping boy, but at least he had taken no pleasure in it, nor did he sneer at G’Kar limp in Londo’s arms.

"It was most exciting!" Cartagia tittered. He stood, pulling off his scarf and dropping it on the floor. “Won’t you join me for some entertainment?”

The man hesitated briefly, enough for fear to flicker through his eyes again again, before he nodded. “Of course.”

Londo looked away. The guard had about as much choice in this as Londo had in kissing G’Kar: none. To disobey the emperor was a death sentence. He couldn’t do anything with Cartagia like this, unbuttoning his undershirt with sure fingers, not without getting him and the guard and Vir and G’Kar killed. He couldn’t risk it.

“If it pleases your majesty,” Londo said, “I’ll take your pet back to his cell. I can see you have a very busy night in front of you.”

“Busy indeed,” Cartagia murmured, and gestured as if to brush Londo away. “Take him away. Feel free to do what you want with him when you get there. Your aide can help.”

“I shall,” Londo said. “Vir, will you take his arm? I don’t think I can carry G’Kar alone.”


	2. A Stone's Pride

G’Kar came to hanging from his arms, his feet dragging against the floor. His vision was cloudy. He tried to stand by himself, but a cool hand tugged at his collar. “Shh, don’t let him know you’re awake,” someone hissed. Behind him - them? - he heard a thump against the wall, heavy breathing, Cartagia cooing softly: _aren’t you lucky to get a chance to please your future god?_ The voice added: “And if you can walk, try to go fast.”

He nodded and tried to figure out how to make his feet work. The floor kept on spinning, which made finding his footing much more difficult. Another hand wrapped around his waist, steadying him, and he flailed for a moment as it brushed his back and pain shot through him like lightning.

“Great Maker! Are you trying to get dropped?”

“Go away, Mollari,” he said on autopilot. Yes, that was definitely Mollari holding him. That meant the other one was Vir, because Mr. Garibaldi had gone missing and all three of them were on -

Oh.

“Oh, go away, Mollari, it’s not like I saved your sorry skin from getting peeled off back there,” Mollari muttered back at him, and shifted his arm so it wouldn’t rub up against his back. G’Kar felt the floor grow steadier and started to walk with them, leaning heavily on both of them. His legs felt like flarn. Not Lennier’s flarn but Delenn’s, which actually managed to not taste or feel like something that was used to build houses.

“I like Lennier’s flarn,” Vir interjected.

“It tastes like a brick,” G’Kar said. “I think you could kill someone with it.”

“At least it’s not breen,” Mollari said. “I don’t know who thought a potluck would be a good idea. It took weeks to rinse the taste out of my mouth.”

G’Kar tried to kick him and tripped. Two hands from two sides caught him and eased him back onto his feet.

They walked. After a long corridor, G’Kar mumbled, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Vir asked.

“For saving his life, of course,” Mollari said.

G’Kar licked his lips. “For,” he said, and stumbled again. Mollari’s hand eased him back to his feet, and G’Kar leaned into it despite himself.

His mind felt like it was full of cotton. He would have died if not for Mollari, yes, but not in the way Mollari meant. Maybe. He would not have cried out before the whip killed him. He would have died with his pride intact, and he would have damned Narn to occupation by a race of sadists.

A Narn would have stayed silent. A Narn would have died. A Narn would not have an emperor’s playtoy when he realized the danger of the situation. A Narn would have a dead world.

So his planet would live, and he was not a Narn.

“For?” Mollari asked.

“Saving me,” G’Kar whispered. Not a Narn, he thought. Not a Narn, not a Narn, and he felt the water Mollari had forced him to drink pushing out through his eyes, out his face. (Forced? Ha! He could have stopped him. A Narn would have died before allowing it!) A Narn wouldn’t cry in front of enemies, either, but he wasn’t a Narn and so the world grew blurrier with tears.

He heard that noise of Vir’s where he didn’t know what to do and was looking to Mollari for help, and Mollari sighed and shrugged G’Kar further up his shoulder. “We’re almost to the cell.”

After a few more corridors of walking, Mollari hung G’Kar around Vir’s shoulders while he fumbled with key and door. Once it was open, they helped G’Kar onto the floor, resting on his side, his face in Vir’s lap, facing away from his soft stomach.

G’Kar watched Mollari. He saw him look down at Vir, who was making distressed noises. He saw him look back at G’Kar, who didn’t have the energy or the pride left to cover his injuries.  “As the humans say, fuck my life,” Mollari said, breaking the silence.

“Fuck _your_ life?” G’Kar managed between sobs, and he felt one turn into a laugh as it surged out of his throat.

“Yes, fuck my life. That was at least the third worst night of my life.”

G’Kar felt laughter bubbling up at that idea and let it loose, doubling up on the floor. “Fuck - your - hahahahaa - “

“Oh, very funny, laughing at the man who saved your life,” Mollari said.

G’Kar took deep breaths, trying to corral his voice. “I was almost tortured to death, and some of your actions could have gotten us both killed. I think you mean, ‘fuck _our_ lives,’” he said.

“Yes. Definitely. Fuck our lives,” Mollari said, and he sounded so petulant that G’kar started laughing again. “That - that’s not funny,” Mollari stuttered, muffling a chuckle, and G’Kar laughed harder. “That’s - oh, fuck,” he said, and almost fell off the bench laughing.

Vir looked between one, then the other, eyes huge. “Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know,” Mollari choked out.

“We almost died,” G’Kar added, and clutched at his sides as the laughter turned to sobs.

Mollari said, “Dammit,” between peals of laughter and climbed off the bench. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve before taking out a kerchief and wiping G’kar’s face clean. The softness of the fabric and Mollari’s touch was enough to focus on, to distract from the pain and that echo of _not a Narn_ in his head, and G’Kar used it to calm himself.

In the silence, Vir asked, “What does fuck mean?”

“You have been on Babylon 5 for nearly four years and you haven’t learned what fuck means? I’ve not taught you well,” Mollari said, and started laughing again.

G’Kar hacked out a few laughs, then fell silent. He knew that word; he’d learned from the various humans he’d had dalliances with. With the laughter gone, all that was left in him was a hole full of cold realization. “It’s what we were going to do for the emperor if I hadn’t fainted,” he said. He’d been riding high on adrenaline and pain then, too caught up in the game of fooling the emperor with Mollari to realize where it had been going. What they’d almost been forced to do.

“Ohhhh,” said Vir. “It’s another word for drinking.”

“Yes,” Mollari said quickly, the laughter bubbling down to a slow drip.  “Drinking, yes. It’s a human custom. Their idioms are so strange, like the animals raining from the sky.”

“Raining cats and dogs,” G’Kar said.

“Yes, exactly,” said Mollari, who seemed too preoccupied with Vir and his innocence to notice how G’Kar had schooled him Earth colloquialisms once again.

“Why can’t we take him back to our room? We could do something more for his back than just pouring brivari on it, and I can’t believe you did that in front of the emperor when you keep on telling me to be careful, and,” Vir said.

Mollari shhed him. “I would, but we were the last ones seen with him. We’re can’t give him any more help or it will ruin our conspiracy to kill the emperor.”

“Agreed,” G’Kar added. “That’s the most important thing. The emperor dies and Narn is freed.”

“Yeah,” Vir said. He touched G’Kar’s head, then drew back; G’Kar gave him a small nod, and Vir rested his hand on his head. It was warm, and that was strange because Centauri usually felt cool to the touch, and he could hear Vir’s breathing calming. “Does it hurt?”

“It does, but it doesn’t matter,” G’Kar said.

“Oh,” said Vir.

“Foolish, but brave,” Mollari said. “You could have screamed much earlier and spared yourself the injuries.”

“I don’t expect you to understand why I did it,” G’Kar shot back.

“What, your pride? If that was such a problem, then why did you allow me to - “ Mollari started, then stopped as Vir sucked in breath.

G’Kar put his hand on Vir’s. “It’s fine. Before, during the whipping, I was a Narn. I could not allow myself to yield. But afterwards,” and he paused to steel himself for what he was about to admit, “I was not a Narn anymore. I may as well have been a stone. Could a stone have pride?”

“You’re not a stone!” said Vir. “You’re a person! Even if you’re somehow not a Narn anymore, you’re still someone. You’re not a stone.” His warm fingers stroked G’Kar’s cheek in an attempt at comfort.

G’Kar smiled. It wasn’t true, but Vir was a strange Centauri. He felt fingers freeze, then slowly begin to move again.

Mollari opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and simply nodded.

“Nothing to say?” G’Kar teased.

“Not at all,” Mollari replied.

“Good,” said G’Kar. Vir’s touch was almost soothing. He could focus on it and not everything else. The cold floor, the pain in his back, the ache in his arms and legs and neck; he felt as if a great hand had grabbed him and squeezed. His mouth tasted like old blood and new.

Was his mouth still bleeding? He rubbed it, testing the cuts on his mouth. His hand came back rusty with dried blood. All old, then, so what was bleeding fresh so he could taste it?

He’d been hit many times over the past few days. And the whip had been electric. And Cartagia had gone into his pouch with knives; though the cuts felt shallow, he didn’t dare probe them to find out. There were any number of ways something could have broken inside him and left him bleeding out inch by inch. He’d clung to life by giving up being a Narn, and he’d die anyway.

“Mollari?”

“Yes?”

“How much do you know about internal injuries?”

"And what makes you think a Centauri would have ever learned how to tend a Narn?"

“I don’t think you’re bleeding inside,” Vir squeaked.

G’Kar and Mollari both looked at him, surprised.

“I did help Narns get to safe areas away from the Republic, and sometimes someone was sick or hurt so I ended up doing a little research,” Vir said, and he shrank with every word. “You feel really cold and that happens because of blood loss. You’ve lost a lot of blood over the last few days, though.” He looked up at a point on the ceiling. “Um, when you’ve had to go to, um, _to go_ , have you seen any blood?”

“No. No blood.” G’Kar huffed, amused at Vir’s shyness.

“I think most of the injuries on your back were cauterized by the whip, and Mollari got the rest of them with the brivari. You’re supposed to put cold water on burns but I think the brivari will have to do, since it was pretty cold. Um, most of the other injuries I see look shallow, and I don’t see anything infected. Narns heal a lot faster than Centauri, but you barely have any time to rest, so I don’t what that’ll do. Um, do you want me to check under your clothing for signs of internal bleeding?”

“Good idea,” G’Kar slurred. He tried to sit up, then collapsed back onto Vir’s lap. Vir put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

“No, no, don’t move. Not, um, because you’re weak or anything, because you’re not,” Vir said quickly, “but you’re already pretty badly hurt and I don’t want you to get hurt worse because you were moving when you didn’t have to. Londo, I need you to take my place and keep his head up. And take off your coat!” he added, and started to peel his off.

“He’ll bleed all over it,” Mollari grumbled as he took his coat off. “Where do you want it?”

“Put it on him. He’s freezing and we need to warm him up. I - here,” Vir said, and he reached down and squeezed G’Kar’s hand. “Can you feel this?”

G’Kar blinked. He saw the hand around his hand, but the pressure and warmth from it only registered from a distance. “Barely.”

“I think you’re going into a torpid state and we need to get you out of it,” Vir said.

“What?” said Mollari.

“Torpor,” G’Kar said slowly, and tried to flex his fingers against Vir’s, “is...” and he trailed away as he realized he couldn’t figure out if the next word on his tongue was Narn or Centauri.

Vir said, “Torpor is when Narns go into a state of hibernation in order to conserve energy. They normally use it to survive long journeys without much food or water, or to get through a famine year, but it can be triggered by massive injuries. With this many injuries and without medical treatment, I’m worried that G’kar wouldn’t wake up from it. Plus,” he added quickly, “he has to be awake for the plan.”

"You're saying he might not," Mollari said and then stopped, stared down at G’kar, fear dimming his eyes as they had been in the torture chamber. Then he shook his head as if banishing the thought, kneeling in front of G’Kar and wrapping the coat around his front. "Of course, the plan. Yes, good thinking, Vir."

G’Kar wanted to say something about how convenient it was that they needed him alive to save their world, or maybe something about Mollari being worried after all, but he couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t tell what was Centauri and what was Narn; Minbari, Interlac and English were too tangled together for him to pull apart. He tugged the coat up so the top covered his nose and mouth and the bottom covered his pouch and watched the two work around him.

Mollari took Vir’s place as a cushion, and his fingers idly stroked his head and neck, points of warmth to focus on. Vir checked his back once more, rolled up his pant legs one by one to check for fractures and possible internal bleeding, and put his rolled-up coat under his legs when he was done.

“I think that’ll help prevent the torpor. Now, I need to move Londo’s coat,” he said next, and G’Kar nodded his assent. He pulled it off and checked his neck and chest. “There’s bruising, but it’s mostly faded. I think you’ll be fine,” he said, then went down.

He hovered at G’Kar’s stomach, where cloth covered his pouch. “Should I?” Vir asked. G’Kar could tell by how reluctant he was that he knew what was there.

G’Kar didn’t react for a long, long moment. He didn’t want anyone to look at his pouch. He didn’t want to be touched there again. But Cartagia had gone there, and he needed to know how bad it was, and he couldn’t let the shame of a stone get in the way of living. Better Vir than anyone else on this forsaken planet.

He nodded.

“Londo, look away,” Vir said.

“I am, I am,” Mollari said, and G’Kar felt another distant warmth on his hands. Mollari’s hand on his, the other on his face. G’Kar clung to them, the coat, braced himself.

Vir pulled open G’Kar’s robe, and the rush of air was too warm. A shocked intake of air. “Great Maker,” Vir said. “What happened?”

“Ca,” and G'Kar swallowed, “Cartagia.”

“I know, yeah, that was a stupid question, I’m just - I think we saw him in the garden afterwards and his hands were - I just - I don’t know enough to help with this. I don’t want to check inside and accidentally make it worse. I can’t believe he’d - no one’s supposed to - I’m sorry,” Vir said, words stumbling.

G’Kar nodded. He knew. And Vir knew, and he knew not to touch it, and he probably would have to look inside because that was where all the damage was, and he didn’t want him to look and he couldn’t think. His head was full of stone on a body of glass.

“You know,” Mollari said, “I brought the brivari.”

“You what? Why?” asked Vir. “How?”

“I knew I’d need a drink after this. A lot of drinking. An entire bottle of drinking. My belt is big enough to carry the bottle with us, you know, and I put it down when we got in here. But, you know, I think there’s enough in the bottle to wash off G’Kar and get all three of us properly drunk.”

Vir looked at G’Kar helplessly. “It’s your call.”

G’Kar nodded. It’d probably sting, but he was already in pain; what was a little more? And it would involve a minimum of touching him.

Vir grabbed the bottle of brivari from where Mollari had set it on the floor and came back to G’kar’s side. “Ready?”

“Not yet,” G’Kar said, the first in Narn, the second in Centauri. He pointed at the bottle, then at his mouth.

“Oh! Yes,” Vir said, and brought the bottle to G’Kar’s lips. G’Kar managed to get one shaking hand on the bottle before tipping it into his mouth. Brivari slopped in, and he choked on it before swallowing small gulps, bit by bit. He felt some dripping out of his mouth and onto Mollari’s legs, but he was already not a Narn, and so he had no dignity to feel wounded about.

He didn’t know how much he’d need to start going numb from the alcohol instead of from the cold. He hoped enough water had been forced into him to avoid a hangover. But there wasn’t much he could do either way about it.

When he thought he’d had enough, he pushed the bottle away. His hand had stopped shaking. He pulled Mollari’s jacket to his face and clung to it. It smelled like Mollari’s awful cologne and sweat.

“Ready?” Vir asked. The mouth of the bottle was cool against his pouch opening. G’Kar nodded. “Three, two, one,” and poured.

The alcohol on his wounds hit like a hammer blow, and G’Kar screamed. Vir almost jumped out of his skin, pulling the bottle with him, and Mollari answered with a shriek of his own.

“Oh no oh no,” Vir gasped, “is this place soundproofed?”

“Usually,” Mollari said, and G’Kar felt Mollari’s hand tighten on his as if from a distance. “I don’t think that screams would be too incriminating, though, given what is supposed to happen in a cell.”

G’Kar sobbed weakly. He didn’t have the energy for much else now. His pouch hurt and his back hurt and everything hurt. It hurt, and he’d forced it away for days but he couldn’t ignore it now and it hurt so much.

“G’Kar,” Mollari murmured. He took his jacket and helped brush the tears away. “G’Kar, if you are a stone, then you’re certainly not going to break under torture. Stones weather and break to the wind and to water, but not to pain. You will get through this.”

He felt awful laughter bubbling up through the tears again, at Mollari of all people saying that, at everything. He was so tired.

“Here.” Mollari folded up his jacket into a thick pad, then offered it to him. “Bite down on this. I imagine you’d been biting your cheeks for the past few days to help keep quiet, and this will probably be less painful.” He paused, then added with forced joviality, “We can’t have you biting your tongue off on accident while we’re cleaning your wounds. How else will you rant at me when you’re upset?”

G’Kar nodded and bit into the jacket. It tasted like jacket, mostly. He’d had far worse gags.

“I’m going to pour it again,” Vir said “Ready, G’Kar?”

Nod.

And there was pain again. G’Kar screamed into the gag, biting down hard, and Mollari held his hands and kept him steady as Vir poured and G’kar felt it flow out and down his stomach, burning him from the inside out -

He must have passed out for a minute, because when he opened his eyes next, Vir was wiping the floor with his jacket and Mollari was patting his face. “Come on! Wake up! You can’t die on me yet!”

G’Kar tried to spit out the makeshift gag, but found it was stuck in his teeth. He nudged Mollari with his shoulder and made a noise to try and get him to realized what had happened.

“Hmm?” Mollari leaned down, and G’Kar tried to pull his teeth out of the jacket again. Mollari finally realized and helped G’Kar tug it out of his mouth, leaving scraps of cloth in his teeth. “It must have been bad,” Mollari said as he unfolded it. “You’ve left marks in the fabric.” He wrapped it around G’Kar again.

He tried to let his breathing go even once again. Mollari was still far too warm for a Centauri, and now Vir was tossing the empty bottle and cloth to the side before curling up next to G’kar, a furnace, one leg under G’kar’s for - some medical reason, probably.

“We won’t go until I’m sure you’ll survive the night,” Mollari said. “I need you alive.” His hands still felt distant in their warmth, and G’Kar curled up closer to him as much as he could.

“Alive...” A thought struck him. He’d clung to the idea during parts of the torture, but it had dwindled as he’d focused more and more on survival and not making a noise. “M’llari?”

“Yes?”

“Gari,” G’Kar mumbled, “baldi?”

Mollari wiped G’Kar’s face of his new tears. “I got word from Babylon 5 not long before the torture session. Your information lead them to Mr. Garibaldi. He’s injured, but he will recover.”

G’Kar smiled into Mollari’s hand. “Good. He’s,” and he couldn't remember what language the next words he was trying to say were in, tried to remember, failed; “my friend.”

“He is my friend too, even if I doubt I am one of his anymore,” Mollari said. “I am glad they found him. I’m a little boggled at how stupid you have to be to leave the station to look for him when it was keeping you safe, but you did manage to rescue him.”

G’Kar trembled, then tapped his fingers against Mollari’s hand. “Only one,” he said, “looking.”

“What, were they all so fussed about Sheridan that they completely forgot him?” G’Kar nodded, and Mollari’s face grew redder and puffier. “I can’t believe it. They could spare at least one person to go look for the security chief! If Sheridan came back and Garibaldi was gone, he’d throw a fit! They need Garibaldi! Is it because of the strange human affection for him? I don’t see why they haven’t realized that Garibaldi is the better looking of the two.”

G’Kar nodded firmly in agreement. He wasn’t sure what Delenn saw in Sheridan that was so sensually appealing.

“When we get back to Babylon 5, and we will go back because we are going to survive this, we are all going to get stinking drunk and buy Garibaldi whatever he wants, even if it’s some rinky dinky non-alcoholic nonsense like he always goes for. No, ten of them. A hundred of them! And then he’ll yell at us for being pests in the Zocalo and then he’ll drink with us.”

“I want a horchata,” Vir said. “You should try one, Londo!”

Mollari asked, “Are they alcoholic?”

“No, I don’t think so, since Lennier drinks them.”

“Bah!” Mollari’s face puffed up. “If I must drink something from Earth, I would instead go for their brandy, or maybe that vodka that Ivanova likes so much,” Mollari said.

G’Kar murmured, “Spiked hot chocolate.”

“It’s entirely too sweet for me,” said Mollari. “I have never understood the sweet tooth humans talk about so much. Don’t you feel like your mouths are shriveling up from all that sugar? There is only one flavor to it!”

G’Kar huffed and shook his head. He couldn’t get tired of it. Sweet things had been rare on Narn; most of the crops that made sweet things were taken by the Centauri, and what was left rarely filtered down to slave boys or refugees in shelters. Discovering the sheer variety of sweet things that other worlds had, as well as the variety of spices he could add to the ones he’d learned to use, had made his years offworld fascinating.

Vir hugged G’Kar’s legs. G’Kar looked up at Mollari and nodded so he knew to let him. “We’ll get Lennier to bake something Minbari,” Vir said.  “I know you two don’t like his flarn, but he makes some really nice pastries. He doesn’t get much time for it but I bet he’d find it since we’ll all be back, so we can celebrate.”

“I’ll make breen,” G’Kar said. It was an easy recipe and Mollari hated it. Perfect.

Mollari made a disgusted voice. “Anything but breen!”

“Glack, then.”

“Save me from bad Narn cooking!”

“Spoo.”

“You’ll serve it fresh and ruin the flavor.”

“Roopo balls.”

“When did you learn to make roopo balls?”

“Disguise the breen.”

“You will be the death of me,” Mollari moaned.

“Likewise,” G’Kar chuckled.

Mollari was silent. G’Kar waited for him to say something, but it never came. He twisted his head up. “Mollari?”

Mollari’s eyes were dark and far away. G’Kar rammed him with his shoulder, and Mollari snapped out of it. “Oh. Ha.” He forced a smile. “I bet you wouldn’t mind killing me, would you?”

Vir squeaked, “Londo!”

“It’s fine. It’s not like anyone would hear you but us, and everyone knows we want each other dead anyway, yes?” Mollari said.

G’Kar said, “No.”

“That’s ri - _what_ ,” said Mollari.

“See,” said Vir.

“No. I hate Mollari,” said G’Kar. His head was clearing from lead to cotton, and it was getting easier to place his words. “You bombed my world,” he said in Interlac, as if they were back on Babylon 5 as ambassadors and not here on Centauri Prime. “You started the war. You lied to me when I tried,” and he had to take a deep breath, “to make peace when the old emperor died. You would have done this to me a year ago if I had not taken sanctuary.”

Mollari shook his head. “Not this.”

“Something like it,” G’Kar said. “It would have happened. You wouldn’t care because you would be powerful and I would be gone.”

“I know we hate each other,” Mollari said, “but I am not a monster like Cartagia. I wouldn’t have let this happen!”

“And that is why I would not kill you,” G’Kar said. “You are are a greedy fool of a Centauri, but not evil. You hurt people out of cowardice, too afraid to jeopardize your reach for power to do the right thing. Once the swelling in your head went down, you could see the extent of your crimes.” Perhaps Vir and Mollari’s joint efforts to warm him were working. He could feel his words flowing back to him. “You did not help the other Kha’Ri, because your shame for bombing us would not extend that far. But you know me, and I have been treated cruelly, and whatever fragment of your soul is left cried out. You don’t care about my people, who deserve better than the boot of the Centauri on their necks, but you value me enough to offer them as a reward if I help save your world.”

He took a moment to breathe. The heat of Londo’s hand on his was coming into focus.

“There is enough of you not twisted by your culture to still be good,” G’Kar said. “You’ve done many cruel things, but you can see them and regret them. I doubt Cartagia can. There is enough of you that values honor,” and he spat the word, “that I can hope you will not betray me when he is dead. That you will free Narn.”

“I would not!” Mollari said. He sounded upset now, but G’Kar knew better. “I gave you my word!”

G’Kar said, “I know.” He smiled. “I don’t know what is in the remains of your heart, but it is not cowardice anymore.”

He felt Londo’s hands tense on his skin, then soften.

“You are a fool,” Mollari said quietly. “You pick fights over the most minor of things and I have never met anyone more stubborn. Your pride gouges you. You slept with my wife, mocked my nephew, put Vir and me in the medical wing after you ripped open my mind.”

“I know,” G’Kar said. He had yet atone for that.

“And yet, even when you have nothing and no one on your side, when everyone else has Shadows or Vorlons or Emperors with them, you continue fighting. You would die to save your world; I know because I would do the same for mine,” Londo said. “I would prefer if we did not have to.”

“We won’t,” said G’Kar. “Mr. Garibaldi is waiting for us.”

Mollari was quiet for a long moment. Then: “How do you feel?”

G’Kar deadpanned, “Like I’ve been tortured. What were you expecting?”

“Something like, ‘Mollari, I am feeling better, and you can tell because I can’t shut up about everything bad about you!’ Great Maker, the only thing that can get you to be quiet is dying.”

“Let’s be fair,” G’Kar replied. “I was being very good at being quiet until you showed up and started telling me to scream. What’s that human phrase - you break it, you buy it?”

Mollari huffed. “I didn’t think I had it in me to break the great G’Kar. Your head certainly seems fine, even if your body can’t keep up with it.”

“As always, you misunderstand, Mollari. You told me not to be quiet, so I’m never going to give you a quiet moment for the rest of your life.”

“Kill me now,” Mollari moaned.

G’Kar laughed. “I already said I wouldn’t do that!”

“Why not? You’ve been telling me how awful I am, how I’m some Centauri monster with only a fragment of a soul left in me. Why not put me out of my misery?”

“If I thought that,” G’Kar said, “then I doubt I could have brought myself to kiss you.”

Another long silence. Mollari cleared his throat. “We didn’t exactly have a choice about that.”

“I know, but of Centauri I could have been forced to kiss in order to save both our skins, you’re one of the least objectionable.” Pause. “I wouldn’t mind Vir either. No offence, Vir.”

“None taken,” Vir squeaked.

“Besides,” G’Kar went on, the words laying out before him like a road, “you’re a better kisser than your wife. Granted, spoo is a better kisser than her, but you’re not entirely repugnant.”

“Good,” said Londo. “If you have to be forced to kiss someone by Cartagia, I’d rather it be me than someone who would do more damage.” His hand curled slightly between G’Kar’s, and G’Kar answered with a squeeze.

“Don’t be so coy, Mollari. You enjoyed it on some level.” G’Kar tried to turn onto his back to get a better look at Londo, but Londo and Vir tipped him back on his side before he could. His body felt distant; only the warmth of the other two anchored him. “It was a decent enough escape from reality.”

“I had wondered,” Londo said. “I have never seen you yield like that before.”

“There would be no point in not yielding,” G’Kar said. “I am not a Narn. I am a stone, and you are a glacier.”

Londo made a disgusted noise. “You’re talking like a Minbari.”

G’Kar sighed. It was all so clear to him, and Londo still didn’t understand. “A stone is hard, but water wears at it. It erodes. And a glacier will push boulders away with it’s sheer strength, leaving scars in the mountains. But the glacier will also have the boulders lodged in it, impossible to get out until it melts.”

“G’Kar, I think you had too much brivari.”

“Pardon me. I hadn’t meant to infringe on your Centauri wines,” G’Kar said expansively. “When the glacier melts, it will spill water and boulders and grind them down into soil, and soak the valleys in new dirt and rivers.”

“I think _I_ have had too much brivari. I think I am starting to follow you,” Londo said. He petted G’Kar’s cheek. “They meet, they scar each other, they turn into something better later.”

“Yes!” G’Kar shouted, then coughed on his own throat. Londo hissed and clenched G’Kar’s hands. “You don’t have to grab so tightly.”

“Your hands, they are feeling again?”

“Not as much as they should be, but they are feeling.” G’Kar squeezed Londo’s hands back and peered up at him. Londo had an expression of worry on his face that made the cold in his stomach drain away. “I want to - “ He rolled forward, off Londo’s lap, and pulled his legs off Vir. He sat up on his knees across from Londo.

“G’Kar! What are you doing? You’re going to hurt yourself again and we are all out of brivari!”

“No, I won’t. I was capable of kneeling before and I am just as capable of it now.” G’Kar almost toppled over and grabbed Londo’s arms to stabilize himself. “Don’t order me to lay down again. I want to talk to you like this, face to face.”

Londo opened his mouth and shut it. His eyes were wide with worry. G’Kar chuckled. “Why that face? I’m in no position to hurt you.”

“You could,” Londo said.

“Here? Now?”

Londo looked into his eyes, then away, shook his head. “You’re right. You would not this time.”

“You admit I’m right for once. Maybe you’re growing up,” G’Kar said. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“I am an old man, not a child,” Londo said.

“You act like one.”

“And you’re any better?”

“I’m trying,” G’Kar said. They were staring into each other’s eyes now. Londo’s breath was warm, and so were his arms through his shirt. “I am starting to see things you cannot.”

“Such as?” Londo’s wariness was fading, overtaken with his curiosity.

“I see,” G’Kar said, “the potential of someone not twisted up in Centauri cruelty. Like looking through a keyhole at the light behind a door. Kindness not twisted up in honor. Hands not tied by a thousand hates. I see,” he said, and they were so close that he could feel the heat radiating off Londo’s skin, “the broken rock and the melted glacier, and what grows in the soil fed by meltwater.”

Londo breathed, “And?” His eyes were as blue and pure as a river running to the sea.

“You could fill your heart with life again,” G’Kar whispered. He leaned in and their lips met. He closed his eyes and tasted Londo, brivari and blood, and Londo held him as tightly as he clutched back. There was no world but the warm, soft body supporting him, the touch of lips, hands holding his arms. Pain was nothing compared to this. He was engulfed.

The kiss broke. G’Kar rested his forehead against Londo’s, soaking in the warmth. He reached up and rubbed the smear of blood Cartagia had left off of Londo’s cheek. “Londo,” he asked, “can you see it?”

And Londo saw it. G’Kar saw him see it, the far-off look in his crinkled eyes, the blue of meltwater and the healthy Centauri sky, and his smile was small and gentle -

and fell.

His eyes froze back in place, cold, afraid; G’Kar realized, with a thrill up his back, that he had settled in Londo’s lap once more, that their chests touched, that Londo’s hands were dropping so that all that held him up was his own hand on Londo’s elbows.

“I can’t see it,” Londo said. “I _can’t_. Now get off me.”

“But,” G’Kar said, and Londo disentangled their arms with a shake. G’Kar unbalanced again and tried to use Londo for support, and this time, Londo grabbed his wrists and brought them up to his chest. Ice gripped his heart. “Londo?”

“I told you to get off me,” Mollari said. “Now get off or I will make you get off.”

G’Kar stared at him, then sighed and nodded. He backed off of him until he bumped into something that did not feel like the wall that yelped like a siren. He startled and turned; it was only Vir, who looked about to burst.  G’Kar smiled sheepishly at him; Vir looked so flustered, almost awed, and he’d only tried to help. He hadn’t meant to back into him. He’d forgotten he was there. Lovely, strange Vir, who looked like his jaw was about to separate from the rest of his skull. “Pardon me.”

“I - I - I’m sorry!” squeaked Vir.

G’Kar nodded acknowledgement and turned back to Mollari, who had stood quickly once G’Kar had gotten off of him and was dusting off his pants. “Leaving so soon?”

“We have stayed far too long,” Mollari said, “and I am certain you will survive the night if you have enough energy to talk my ears off. Come on, Vir.” G’Kar chuckled. “What’s so funny now?” Mollari snapped.

G’Kar held up his jacket. “You forgot something.”

Mollari hissed and grabbed it, tugging it back on quickly. Vir picked up his as well and didn’t seem to notice how it squelched under his arm. He was still staring at G’Kar.

But G’Kar could barely spare an eye for Vir, not with Mollari here, whose face was now purpled with - ha, not rage, Mollari wished it would be seen as rage, but he was easily read. Shame was what colored him, and fear dimmed his eyes, and his hands shook when he buttoned his coat.

And he thought of how he’d broken into Mollari’s mind and confronted him, buried deep into his thoughts and they had collapsed on him. He had been rescued by his father, but he still remembered how Londo’s mind had crowded in on him. How the flashes had trapped him in that frail body that weighed down by -

guilt.

It hurt. It was screwed up in his chest, his hand on a saber through his best friend’s gut - woman with a brooch, lover, dead - spined black spaceships in the sky - a flaming hand - flames raining down on Narn - staring into one red eye and hands around his neck and -

And if he could change, he could have prevented it. If he could have prevented all this, he would shatter.

It had fallen to the back of his mind. Meditation on the mind of the guilty had enveloped him in his writing, gone from how it tore one soul apart to how it could tear apart others; how fear stopped necessary sacrifices and guilt begat unnecessary ones; it was necessary to know your guilt so that you could atone, but you must risk letting it drown you, and if you did not -

Then you were Londo Mollari. He had built walls around himself to keep the guilt out, and there was only a keyhole to peek at what could be, and G’Kar had been so enraptured with the keyhole that he’d brained himself against the door. And Mollari stayed in his prison of guilt, too scared of drowning to dare allow more than a keyhole to look back out of.

G’Kar didn’t have the strength to stand; how could he pull down those walls when every scrap of energy he had should be used for himself?

He wanted to live. For Narn, for Na’Toth, for family, for his people, for Mr. Garibaldi and Ivanova and Delenn and Marcus and Zack and Sheridan and Lennier, everyone else on Babylon 5, for everyone threatened by the Centauri, for everyone. For everyone’s sake, he had to keep his pride and his guilt from distracting him; he was not a Narn but a rock, and the only thing he could do was to become a cornerstone for their foundations. If he stopped here and now for Londo, he risked not coming back at all.

He couldn’t waste his time on someone who didn’t want to be saved.

“You will need to be chained,” Mollari said, “or we’ll be found out. We cannot risk it.”

“Fine,” G’Kar said. Mollari knelt before him and took his arm, fumbled with the cuff on the other hand, and avoided meeting G’Kar’s eyes until G’Kar touched his arm. Mollari’s head jerked up, eyes wide; his mouth was set like it was when he had an unpleasant duty, an ambassadorial meeting to go to instead of gambling or being chased around the station by his wives.

“What is it?” Mollari snapped.

G’Kar looked into his eyes. There was no sign of spring or meltwater in them. He sighed and patted Mollari’s arm to soothe him. “Nothing.”

“Good,” Mollari said, and took G’Kar’s other arm. The only sign of what had happened minutes before was how gently Mollari held him.  

The chains had enough give that he could sleep on the floor and not rest his back on the wall. He lowered himself onto his side carefully. Vir hovered by the door, still pale. “Do they fit? How are your wrists? Don’t they look too tight, Londo?”

“Nonsense, Vir. It’s not as if we can change how they fit,” Londo said, looking away from G’Kar.

“Besides,” G’Kar said, “they fit perfectly! Almost as though they were made for a Narn.” He showed how the cuffs had enough give that his blood flow wouldn’t be cut off.

“Don’t strain yourself. We’ll try and do what we can to help,” Vir said. He was now looking to him, to Mollari, then back to G’Kar, questions all but bursting from his head. But Mollari said nothing as he rushed Vir out the door.

Mollari did look back once, though, before the door closed, the cold mask faltering. The door clanged shut. G’Kar let himself slump once the echoes rang into nothing.

He couldn’t hide from himself in a cell. That meant one of them was, at least, stuck with the truth.


	3. Blood and Brivari

It was impossible for Vir to sleep. He heard Londo snoring in the other room, which usually lulled him to bed in minutes, but not tonight. There were too many other noises in his head: the whip cracking, skin peeling with a sickly wet squelch, sobs, and the hypnotic murmur of G’Kar’s voice over Londo’s stuttering breath - Londo, can you see it?

He had half a mind to roll out of bed and poach Londo’s cheapest brivari, but he doubted that would help. He wished it could; Londo could go from zero to drunk in 60 seconds and be one with his inner self in another 30, and Vir had cleaned up after enough hangovers to know it didn’t help, but it’d help for long enough. Maybe. He still smelled like brivari and blood from the makeshift surgery, no matter how long he’d spent in the shower. He could still see a mix of brivari and blood soaking into the floor if he closed his eyes; he could still taste brivari in the back of his throat and dried blood was flecked under his fingernails. He even smelled them in his hair, which he was too exhausted to put back into a proper fan after his shower. Every time his hair flopped over his shoulders and onto his face, the stench of the cell hit him.

It would not leave him.

Nor would the blank-eyed smiles of the servants taking his bloody clothing to clean. No one was surprised when people returned from Cartagia smelling of brivari and blood. And when he’d stuttered at one, they patted his cheek as if he were a child.

Maybe he was.

He sighed and crept into the kitchen. He opened the liquor cabinet and found something cheap and fruity-looking from Earth, a gift from - someone. Londo was easy to buy for, and Vir didn’t want to risk the brivari. Too many memories of blood. He poured amber liquid into a small glass and sat it on the table.

He took a drink, coughed, then tried again. It burned going down.  It was the same color as G’Kar’s skin, he thought, and lowered the glass back to the table. His head followed it. It rang with the silence of the room.

“G’Kar said,” Vir murmured, eyes closed, telling his glass what he should tell the man sleeping in the other room, “that he and you are natural forces that destroy each other, but good things happen because of it. That sounds like something out of a romantic opera where everyone dies at the end. Which is really surprising because of all the times you two tried to kill each other, and how you’re always fighting and the last time I saw you so close to someone, you were with Adira. I saw you. That was definitely real. It reminds me of _Telis and Corosca_ , that opera, where the two lovers from different houses meet and hit it off after hating each other at first and then decide to elope and then,” Vir said dizzily, “they all died, including the lovers in a double suicide to escape the emperor’s punishment. I really didn’t like that part.” He thought about how blood stained G’Kar’s clothing on both sides, back from the whip and front from his pouch; he thought about how Cartagia watched Londo like a hungry Na’Ka’Leen feeder. “I don’t want you two to die like that. I don’t want you to die at all! I don’t want anyone to die! Not even,” he said, and he fumbled blind for his glass and dragged it to his lips, sucked a film of sweethot amber from the top.

“Not even Cartagia,” Vir continued. “I want him dead so badly. Our world is dying, and G’Kar is dying, and Cartagia is the one killing them, and if he was gone, they would get better. But the idea of killing him is really scary, Londo. I couldn’t do it, not like you will. You’re brave. Or morally bankrupt. Or both. It’s hard to tell these days.”

His glass did not reply. There was no sound in their apartment. Londo must have rolled over on his face so he wasn’t snoring, Vir thought, and he took another drink.

“I miss when you two just bickered a lot and then had contests to see who could charm the dancer girls better and you’d come home drunk and angry because he’d always win. There wasn’t a war and no one tried to murder each other and sometimes he’d come back carrying you because you were too drunk to stand and the argument wasn’t finished. You’d both be happily insulting each other in three different languages. Or that one time he got too drunk so we had to take him back and Na’Toth was scandalized when she saw him.

“Remember when he showed up with shoes to your Ascension Day anniversary and ended up bickering with Timov until you got hit with that booby trapped gift? You probably don’t because you got knocked out, but she slapped him with a cake.

“Even digging you two out of that elevator would be better than this. I’d face G’Kar mad on Dust if it meant Cartagia stopped. If it meant G’Kar not bleeding out in a cell.” Vir drank, then set the glass down and rubbed his eyes. “I mean, I don’t want him to hurt you again, but,” and he rubbed them again. “I don’t think he would hurt you again. He carried you to Franklin when he came to, then came back and took me. He was crying. I mean, he’s done awful things but he’s stopped and I think he feels remorse and we just keep doing worse and worse things and I’m not sure what I'm doing anymore.”

Vir stared down into the glass. His reflection stared back. He wished he could bounce off the walls, bright eyed, like Londo did when he drank; really, Vir had seen skeletons with eyes less sunken in than his own. He wished he could be as happy as Londo when he drank. Londo only drank when he was happy, so he was a very happy drunk; the more sober he got, the more miserable he was. Vir sighed. “We’re going to fix it all, right?” He raised the glass in a silent toast.

“What are you still doing up?” said Londo from behind, where the bedrooms joined to the kitchen.

Vir, startled, almost dropped his shot glass. “Londo! You’re awake!”

“I needed a drink. I assume you did too.” Londo walked from the kitchen door behind Vir to the chair next to him and sat heavily. Like Vir, he had showered to get the blood and brivari off when he had gotten back; he had seen no point in putting his hair up when he was going to sleep, so now Londo’s hair was limp down to his shoulderblades, and there was no way to hide the amount of grey at his temples in the fan of his hair now. His smile did not reach his eyes.  “You should go to bed. Tomorrow will be long and being sleep deprived will make it longer.”

“I, but,” Vir protested, but Londo plucked the shot glass out of his hand, gave Vir a deliberate stare and knocked it back in one gulp. “Londo, I can’t sleep.”

“Go do some paperwork. That does a very good job of putting me to sleep,” Londo said. He flapped his hand at Vir. “Go, go on. I need something to drink while I’m awake.”

Vir nodded reluctantly and let Londo shoo him to bed. He grabbed some forms to fill out in bed, and filled out lines until sleep overcame him.

The next morning, he found his sheets neatly tucked in and the paperwork removed. It had relocated itself on the kitchen table, and Londo’s messy handwriting had continued where Vir’s had left off. The amber alcohol was still out, the liquid in it still high.

Untouched.

Vir sighed and hid the proof of Londo’s sleepless night in the cabinet.


	4. A Refusal to Erode

The guards dragged G’Kar in front of Cartagia the next morning, hands bound behind his back, the scabs and burns bared on his back for Cartagia’s small audience. He glared at the floor as Cartagia blathered on and on about - G’Kar didn’t care. He didn’t need to hear a dead man ramble. And he was offered food and water in bowls on the floor.

A Narn wouldn’t have accepted the insult.

He hadn’t eaten in five days.

G’Kar ate and ignored the laughter and the ache of bending over, how some of his scabs cracked with the effort. He glimpsed Mollari in the back, eyes wide, face pale, and some bitter part of him rejoiced in how uncomfortable Mollari looked.


	5. Vir vs Camera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happens sometime between 4x3, The Summoning, and 4x4, Falling Toward Apotheosis.

Vir was really starting to hate the garden. Cartagia and his court monopolized it, so Vir kept on tripping over bodies in the grass. He was very glad that most of them were just having sex instead of being dead, but there had been enough corpses that going into the garden made him queasy. The smell of blood and brivari seemed to invade.

The distant sound of Cartagia and his suck ups laughing made it worse. Vir knew who they were laughing _at_. It was bad enough that G’Kar was possibly dying without adding all the torture.

The laughter drew nearer. Where was Londo at a time like this? Vir couldn’t handle this alone!

He was about to duck into a shrub when someone stumbled past him, red-cheeked and bright-eyed with alcohol. This courtier had finely trimmed hair and clothing in shades of gold and red, and he was holding a strange device. It took Vir a moment to realize it was an old fashioned digital camera; Cartagia did not allow the new flying ones that filmed and uploaded to the interweb in real time.

The courtier blinked at him, then smiled. “Don’t you want to join the party? We’re having lots of fun with the Narn. He’s nice and obedient now.”

Vir did not slap the courtier silly. “Is that so?” he asked, keeping a smile plastered on his face. “What’s going on?”

“Here, I’ll show you,” the courtier said, leaning heavily on Vir before showing him his camera and flipping through the pictures of G’Kar. G’Kar on his hands and knees in front of Cartagia’s chair, with Cartagia’s feet on his scabbed over back; G’Kar holding steady as a footrest despite being kicked; G’Kar glaring with blood staining his teeth pink.

Vir felt the smile on his face crystalize. His nails dug into his hands. “Isn’t that nice,” he said. He grabbed the camera and went through the pictures, and every one nailed that smile into his face.

“Do you like them?” the courtier said, too drunk to notice Vir’s expression.

“I,” Vir said, “I - love them.”

“You’re very pretty,” the courtier said, and leaned in and kissed him. Vir squawked, too stunned to push him away, and the courtier took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Vir fumbled with his hands, trying to get them working enough to push, but the camera - it was as if his thoughts were going through mud, Vir thought, and this should not be happening, he was too unnoticeable to be attacked like this, though he could totally be noticeable if he wanted to but there was too much going on and he didn’t want to be noticed and he felt the slot where the camera’s data crystal was and he decided that if he was going to get attacked in the garden, he’d at least get _something_ out of it. Vir pulled the data crystal out and felt time snap back to normal. Then he shoved the courtier off.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Oh, you’re no fun,” the courtier sneered. “Give me my camera back.”

Vir shoved it back into the courtier’s hands, hoped he hadn’t accidentally offended one of Cartagia’s favorites, and fled the gardens.

Once he was safely in Londo’s quarters, Vir took the data crystal and crushed it under his heel. Then he went to scrub the taste of stale breath and brivari out of his mouth.


	6. A Light in the Long Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place at the end of 4x4, Falling Toward Apotheosis, during the eye removal scene, and the days afterward.

They took his eye.

G’Kar realized the guards didn’t know what they were doing after they had chained him down to the chair and shoved the knife through the lid that had shut reflexively, down, deep.  He could feel the tip scraping against the back of his eye socket. He clutched at empty air, the most motion the chains allowed him, and shuddered breath as one guard twirled the knife inside him. “How do we get it out?”

“We could let it stay in and rot,” said the other. G’Kar wheezed; he would not scream, he would not, he was not a Narn but he still had some pride, and he could see in his mind rotting flesh in his eye socket and he’d have to claw it out.

“No. We need him alive, not rotting from brain fever,” the first guard said. He pulled the knife out, then stuck it back sideways. G’Kar choked on a silent scream. The guard yanked the knife out again and with it came sticky white and red. He felt something hot and wet and half-solid dribble down his cheek, down his chest, onto his lap.

He looked down and saw his own red eye, the pupil crushed and split open by the knife, staring back up at him.

G’Kar started laughing. A guard slapped him and he saw stars but couldn’t stop the hysterical cackling. A hand pulled his chin up and he looked the guard in the eye and he saw -

nothing.

Nothing in the guards. They were nothing. They were hollow, empty shells, and it was suddenly so clear what was wrong with the Centauri. They had lost their souls. His body ached all over and his empty socket burned hotcold and he laughed and laughed and laughed with the euphoria of epiphany.

He was still laughing when they left, laughing hard enough that he was weeping. The laughter hurt, shaking his emptied out eye; he sank to the floor, shivering with hysterical giggles as tears oozed out one eye and blood oozed out the other. He could see them making puddles on the floor. He had no energy to roll away from it, and it would have hurt his back, so he lay there and soaked in puddles of his own gore. It soaked the shoulder of his shirt dark red to match the stains from where his eye had dripped down his front.

There was so much pain that he felt like he was drifting away from his body. He was only loosely tethered; the lump making those noises was not him. He was elsewhere, flying, free.

G’Kar had quaked all the noise out of his body when the guards came for him once more. He could see the disgust on their hollow faces and that made him laugh silently. They shoved a bag over his head and half-marched, half carried him out the palace and onto cool metal - a spaceship, he thought. The ship to Narn that Cartagia had ordered. They were taking G’Kar to his execution, and G’Kar was leading Cartagia to his.

He was going home.

They chained him to the wall like an animal, tied his hands behind his back and his legs together so he could not struggle away when they came to beat him. It didn’t matter. He was saving his energy for Cartagia, who had rotted from the inside out. His eyes were windows to a void. Mollari would knock him over like a termite-eaten wall. And Cartagia’s court was full of vases, pretty things with nothing inside. The guards, empty husks. Empty empty empty.

Even Mollari, glimpsed from afar, was nothing. No spark. No light. Where had it gone?

G’Kar prayed. The words were soothing and it gave him something to do. Maybe G’Quan would smile on him. Maybe he already had. G’Kar was seeing new things with his new eye, the one that was not there.

On the second day, they sedated him and dragged him to the ship’s doctor. The nurses cut his clothes off; they were too stiff with blood to be removed normally. They left him shaking and bare under the sterile lights while they prodded his back and his limbs. Someone injected him with something that dulled the pain and made the world spin. It was hard to keep track of people. His eye could not focus; the emptiness of the Centauri around him overwhelmed him. He could barely speak, much less struggle as they shoved him around, put something cool on his burned back, tested the bones of his bruised limbs. They did things to his eye, probed in, and he tried to not scream. Someone touched his pouch and he tried to shove them away, and they strapped him to the table so they could -

he didn’t know why they were touching him  -

They forced him back into rough clothing. They put the bag back on his head to lead him back so he could not fight. It was hard to make his feet meet the floor. They chained him. The cold steel around his wrists bit in.

He curled up on his side, protecting his stomach and pouch, and let himself pass out.

G’Kar woke up to a soft touch on his arm and his name being repeated. He could hear the voice as if from a distance. The pain was still dulled, and he slurred his reply.

“Vir?”

“G’Kar!” He felt the bag loosen around his neck and get pulled up over his nose and mouth. G’Kar reached up and pulled it over his one good eye, held it bunched over the empty socket. He couldn’t bear it being touched again, even by Vir. He didn’t want to be touched. “Are you alright? No, that’s a stupid question, of course you’re not - “

“Vir.” G’Kar tugged on his sleeve and shook his head, a miniscule quiver so the hole in his head would not ache. “Shhh. Stop."

“I’m stopping, I’m stopping,” Vir stammered. He was kneeling at G’Kar’s side, in front of him. He looked even thinner than he had in the cell, and his face was drawn.

“You’ll have to,” G’Kar said, “put it back on later. So they don’t suspect.”

“I know,” said Vir. He sounded like he didn’t want to do it. His voice echoed like a bell. “Do you want help getting up?”

G’Kar nodded. “Slowly. My head. It hurts.” He reached out with the hand that did not keep fabric firmly over his eye.

Vir grasped it and helped him sit up. G’Kar clung to Vir to keep steady; Vir supported him with one hand on his shoulder and another on his waist. Vir helped G’Kar crawl into his lap and held him there once he’d made it, cradling him like a child.

“Is that better?” Vir asked.

G’Kar nodded again. “Yes,” he mumbled.

Vir was quiet for a long moment. “Are you hungry? I brought some food and water.”

“Yes. They haven’t given me much.” He thought he remembered them putting him on an IVwith the doctor . He wasn’t sure. He’d gotten thin gruel and a little water. “Water first.”

Vir fumbled and pulled out a canteen and pressed it to G’Kar’s hand. G’Kar grabbed it; Vir helped steady his hand as G’Kar brought it to his lips and drank, taking several shallow sips so he wouldn’t get sick. Then he carefully gave it back to Vir, who set it back down.

“Now food?” asked Vir.

“Now food,” said G’Kar. “What is there?”

“I bought some pastries, dried fruit, jerky - I couldn’t bring a lot because I had to hide it in my pockets. What do you want to eat?”

G’Kar smiled. “The jerky. I need strength.”

Vir got out the dried meat and helped G’Kar hold it as he ate it. G’Kar chewed slowly, carefully. Vir didn’t tell him to eat faster but just sat there, keeping his hand steady.

“Fruit next.”

Vir helped him with the small fruits, popping them into his mouth one by one. G’Kar tried to savor the sweetness of each one.

“Bread?”

“Yeah. Do you want me to tear it into small pieces for you? You look like you’re having trouble.”

G’Kar stared down at Vir’s hand on his own, then shook his head. “No, I’m eating slowly.”

“Why?” Vir sounded worried, and G’Kar couldn’t muffle a chuckle. He was very naive, despite the war. Despite everything.

“I learned,” G’Kar said, careful to keep his words grounded in Centauri, “that if I eat too much or too fast on an empty stomach, I’ll throw up. I’m trying not to.”

Vir sucked in shocked breath. G’Kar chuckled again and patted Vir’s shoulder. “I learned as a child. It was hard to find food during the occupation of Narn. I had to fend for myself when my parents died and I started fighting.”

“Great Maker,” Vir said. His voice was cracking. “I’m sorry.”

G’Kar looked up at him. Vir was very upset; sorrow and regret bloomed through him, blazed through his skin. He was shining with - he was shining - he -

“Don’t be,” G’Kar said gently.

“But we hurt you!” Vir said. “You were starved and your parents were killed and we destroyed everything. We did it twice. And you almost died. Londo’s hurt you so many times and I have and Cartagia almost killed you,” and he stopped for breath.

G’Kar shook his head. “No.”

“No?”

“Cartagia has. And Mollari has,” G’Kar said. “The master who killed my father did, and the soldiers I fought, and the ones who razed Narn. They hurt me. Hurt us. But,” he said, and he tipped Vir’s chin up like he’d seen Mollari do with him so many times, “you have not.”

“But you told me, in the elevator - dead, dead, dead,” Vir said. His eyes were huge and scared.

“Dead,” G’Kar said. “They died. Everyone died. But how many more would be dead without you?” He touched Vir’s cheek, trying to remember how comfort worked. “I heard about Abrahamo Lincolni.”

“That wasn’t enough!”

“No,” G’Kar said. “But nothing I did was enough either. We couldn’t save them.”

“You could! You did,” Vir said. “You helped the resistance and helped people get food and smuggled information in!”

“No, I,” G’Kar said, “I,” and his face convulsed as he tried to keep back sudden tears. He pressed the bag hard against his eye socket, trying to stop himself, but he could not. “I let them die.”

Vir caught G’Kar as he collapsed into Vir’s arms, sobbing. Vir pulled G’Kar up so he could sob on his shoulder. “You saved as many as you could.”

“Five hundred Narns for every Centauri. How many did I kill?”

“You didn’t kill them!” Vir shouted back. G’Kar tensed at the loud noise and Vir clamped his lips shut until G’Kar relaxed again. “It’s not your fault,” Vir said. “We killed them. The Centauri did it. You were trying to free your world.”

“I know,” G’Kar said. “I know. But I,” and he rubbed his face on Vir’s shoulder like a child, “I can free Narn now, like this. With Mollari. How many could have been spared if I had done this earlier? If I hadn’t let people at home fight for me?

“You know,” he went on, talking into Vir’s shoulder, “when I was a child, I thought it would be better to die than to be captured by the Centauri again. The things they did to us...” He trailed off, the s slurring. “Kill us over accidents. Kill us for fun.” His grip on Vir’s chin faded and his hand dropped low and protective over his pouch. “Go to the doctor and come back barren or missing pieces, no longer able to nurse.”

“But you’ll stop that. Once Cartagia’s gone, it’ll be over,” Vir said. “You’ll be safe. Everyone will be safe.”

G’Kar nodded. “We can heal. There will be no more meaningless death.”

“Yes! So don’t think about it being your fault because it’s not on your head,” Vir said. “It was us.”

“Not you,” G’Kar said. He pushed himself up so he could look Vir in the eye with his one good eye. “The Centauri. Your government. Not Vir.”

“But - “

“Not you!” G’Kar said, and the words filled him up and spilled over, “You are full of compassion and,” he stopped as it dawned on him, the light that overwhelmed him through his empty eye, “and you are not an empty shell who fills yourself with power over others. You are not empty.”

Vir blushed. “Um, thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s just an observation. You made yourself like that,” G’Kar slurred. He tipped Vir’s face up like he had seen Londo touch Vir many times, and was pleased to see Vir startle. “Don’t argue it.”

Vir’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s for a long moment before he raised his hand up. “So. Bread?”

“Yes, bread.” G’Kar took it from him and ate it until it was naught but crumbs. Vir kept on holding him steady, but he was quiet, and his eyes were unfocused as if in thought.

When he was finished, G’Kar leaned on Vir again and collected his thoughts. He and Mollari had gone over the plan several times already: G’Kar would distract the guards before the execution, Mollari would lure Cartagia away and kill him in the confusion, and then Narn and Centauri Prime would be freed along with G’Kar. It was a solid enough plan for Mollari; his plans usually were, even if he rarely thought through what would happen afterwards or what could go wrong.

“Does he have any contingency plans in case he fails to kill Cartagia?” G’Kar asked.

Vir startled again. “What?” Then it hit him and he shook his head quick, brows furrowed. “Oh, no, I don’t think so.”

G’Kar sighed. “Typical.” He closed his eye and visualized the layout of the old Kha’ri parliament building, where the execution would be held. “You’ve studied the maps of where we’ll attack Cartagia?”

“I have.”

“There’s a door that goes through the kitchens and out the back. It was only used by servants and politicians having dalliances between sessions of law. Do you know it?”

“Yes,” said Vir.

“Good. If Mollari fails,” G’Kar said, “I want you to meet me there.”

“What? But we’re not going to  - have you talked to Londo about this?”

G’Kar shook his head. “Even if I had been in the right mind to ask, he would have talked over me. Besides, if he fails, he’ll probably be too dead to worry about consequences. You, though: as his aide, you’ll be suspected of helping him, and you may be executed in his place.”

Vir gasped. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I thought not.” G’Kar visualized the map of the city in his mind, recalling old passageways that the Centauri might not know about. “We’d both be dead if they caught us. We can try to escape. And if that fails, I’ll kill you before they can capture you.”

Vir gurgled. G’Kar opened his eye to find Vir pale and shivering. He sighed and touched Vir’s chin as Londo did again, and Vir looked up at him. “If they catch you, they’ll do to you what they did to me, and worse. If we’re in danger of capture, I’ll give you a swift, painless death. You won’t have to suffer.” G’Kar tried to smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes; this was not the first time he’d offered to mercy kill an ally, and he had gone through with it more than once. It was painful, killing someone to spare them, but it was better than the alternative. And wasn’t it better to die with someone you knew?

It took a long moment of hyperventilation before Vir nodded. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. I think you’re right. I mean, I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to get tortured either, and I’d die either way.” He licked his lips to wet what must have been a very dry mouth and stared over G’Kar’s shoulder. “But...”

“But what?”

“But what about you?”

G’Kar blinked. “What about me?”

“Will you kill yourself?”

“No.”

Vir took a deep breath and said, “But you’ll probably die horribly. Cartagia dissects people or sticks them in the ground and feeds them to insects or saws their heads off with a blunt saw. I don’t think you’ll die quickly.”

G’Kar shrugged. “I already knew that.”

“But I don’t want you to!” Vir said. “Couldn't we sort of die together? Or I could help you.”

G’Kar’s smile reached his eyes this time. “I wish,” he said, “but I can’t. It’s selfish, but I want to die fighting.” Then he realized what that would mean and his smile faded. He looked away from Vir, trying to follow the chain of events that would happen next. “But if I kill a Centauri, then 500 Narns will die for each of them. And they’d do it for me killing you, too, so I’d have to make it look like a suicide, and that’d take time. Maybe if I hid your body and then took them on a wild chase...”

“Um,” Vir said, “what if I killed you?”

G’Kar looked back up at Vir and his serious face and his soft hands and hysterical laughter bubbled out of him. “I’m serious!” Vir flustered. “D-don’t laugh.”

“No, I’m sorry, I know you’re serious, I just can’t stop,” G’Kar giggled, and rested his head on Vir’s shoulder so his shaking wouldn’t make his head hurt worse. “You couldn’t kill me unless I let you. Your arms are made of spoo! The only person who’s flimsier than you is Mollari!” And he thought of Mollari trying to kill him, flailing weakly with a sword; he thought of the flash of dream he’d caught in Mollari’s mind, the two of them with their hands around each other’s necks; he thought of how much his body hurt and how he couldn’t get more Narns killed and he didn’t want Vir or Mollari to die and he didn’t want to die. He rasped for breath against Vir’s shoulder, clinging to him once more.

“You know,” he said, “most Narns of my generation were raised knowing that dying to protect Narn was the highest honor. To protect our pride or to protect others. For a long time, I looked forward to dying with purpose. I was going to make it count. So many people I loved died for nothing, and I would make it up for them. And now,” he said, and the hysteria had gone, leaving him wet-eyed and still, “now I have something to live for instead of something to die for, and death is starting to frighten me again.”

Vir squeezed G’Kar’s elbow gently. “You’re not alone. I’m terrified.”

“I don’t want to die,” G’Kar said. Something in his chest eased, and he curled closer to Vir.

Vir put his hand on the back of G’Kar’s neck, protective. “I won’t let you die if I can help it. Londo and I, we’re trying to get everyone out of this alive.”

“Except Cartagia.”

“Except him, yeah.”

“Don’t worry, Vir,” G’Kar said matter of factly. “If there’s anything I’ve learned about Mollari in the past three years, it’s that he doesn’t just kill things, he razes the earth and salts the ground. If he can corner Cartagia, I’m fairly confident he can destroy him just as well as he’s destroyed everything else he’s touched in the last three years.”

“Great Maker, don’t say it like that,” Vir said, voice wavering. “I’ve been trying to not think about the fallout of this and all the ways Centauri Prime might get destroyed even if we do kill Cartagia.”

“Think of other things he’s destroyed, then, like his chances of scoring with the eligible female population of Babylon 5.”

Vir tried to muffle a snort. “Really, G’Kar? Now?”

“When else?” G’Kar sat back up with Vir’s help and grinned at him. “It’s better to laugh at all this than to despair. Besides, Mollari’s not here. Now’s the perfect time to make fun of him.”

“I thought you’d want him here to react to you,” Vir said; G’Kar’s grin was starting to infect him.

“Sometimes it’s better to do it without him, especially since he probably hasn’t told you any of the really juicy stories. Did you hear about the time Mollari mistook Mr. Garibaldi for one of his wives?”

“You’re making that up,” Vir said.

“I couldn’t make it up if I tried,” G’Kar said. “It happened before you came to Babylon 5. You see, Mr. Garibaldi’s hair had all fallen out because of some mishap that had happened at work the previous day. Mollari called him to the casino, drunk as one of those striped Earth animals, and when Mr. Garibaldi showed up and started chewing him out, Mollari rolled his eyes and started chewing back.” G’Kar got his voice to go up an octave and imitated Mollari’s thick accent. “‘Timov, your tongue cuts me to the core, but I happen to be busy winning at poker. If you do not leave me alone at once, I shall kiss you. I know we both don’t want that to happen.'”

“Oh no,” breathed Vir.

“Of course, at that point, Mr. Garibaldi is so annoyed between all his hair falling out and Mollari talking back that he does start yelling at him, so Mollari grabs him and plants a kiss on his forehead. The entire casino went silent.” G’Kar waved his free hand to show it had all gone quiet. “Then Mr. Garibaldi just turned on his heel and left. Mollari sat back down to play and didn’t realize what happened until about ten minutes later, at which point he grabbed his winnings and ran after Mr. Garibaldi.” G’Kar coughed modestly. “I managed to win the rest of the pot, then followed them to the Zocalo, where Mollari was trying to explain to Mr. Garibaldi how being mistaken for one of his wives was a compliment. Mr. Garibaldi kept asking,‘How is this an apology? When will you get to the apology?’ Sinclair and Delenn were sitting at a nearby table, trying not to laugh. I have to admit, I did laugh at him.”

“At Londo?” Vir was laughing too.

“Yes. To be fair, I believe Mr. Garibaldi is considered very good looking by Centauri standards when he’s bald, so that may have been distracting him. Mollari’s never been good at ignoring a pretty face.”

“I know,” Vir said, grinning. “One time, he was so excited about seeing a girl that he filled an entire hall with star laces so he could show them to her when she got there. Londo bought an entire wardrobe for her!” Vir blushed and lowered his voice. “He even had me buy garters for her!”

G’Kar laughed. “Typical. He has all the subtlety of a hammer. What happened when she got there?”

The laughter drained from Vir’s face. “She didn’t.” He looked away from G’Kar. “She was murdered. One of Londo’s political rivals wanted revenge.”

“Oh.” Now G’Kar remembered. “The dancer girl.”

He remembered her best in Mollari’s memories, not his own. G’Kar had seen her dancing and thought her moderately pretty, somewhat talented, had forgotten her almost at once. Mollari, though, had elevated her to a goddess in his mind: her thin face became ethereal, her mild eyes became gemstones, and her voice was as delicate as an opera singer’s.  Those thoughts of Adira were tinged with a warmth G’Kar did not like to associate with Mollari. How could someone capable of such love so thoughtlessly start a war that killed billions?

“Adira, yes,” Vir said. “He loved her a lot.”

“I know,” G’Kar said. Part of him wished he did not. Mollari had come to him alone, whispering revenge, offering 2000 freed for the death of her killer, and G’Kar had seen himself at his father’s feet in Mollari’s eyes and hated himself for it. Because Mollari hadn’t even cared that the war he had started had killed billions; they were just a footnote in the drama of his life, and one Centauri was more important to him than all of Narn. That was what he was willing to kill for.

That and whatever was going on with Cartagia. His world, his people. As long as it was Centauri-shaped, Mollari could pour endless love into it. But anyone else, even an erstwhile ally -

 _I'm sure whatever your majesty decides would be appropriate_ , Mollari had told Cartagia, and now G’Kar was less an eye.

“You should go soon,” G’Kar said. “They’ll get suspicious if you’re in here for too long and I’m not appropriately injured.”

“I should,” Vir said. He touched G’Kar’s hand, over his missing eye. “Is there anything else you need?”

“What you brought was enough. If I eat more, I’ll get sick.” G’Kar reached up and started to pull the bag back over his head. “Help me get this back on.”

Vir helped G’Kar pull it back over his head, tugged the strings on it so they were comfortable under his chin.  He helped G’Kar lie back on the ground on his side, then carefully left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

G’Kar drifted into dreamless sleep, stomach comfortably full for the first time since he’d arrived on Centauri Prime.


	7. Extinguished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during 4x5, The Long Night, after Cartagia's death but before Vir starts drinking.

Once a majority of the Centauri had fled behind the various curtained doors, the guards fled. G’Kar silently thanked Mollari for holding up the end of the bargain that he’d let all the Narns involved go free. At least he was partially trustworthy. G’Kar cupped his hands around his mouth and said, “We must leave now, before the Centauri return!”

“We’ve got them cornered!” someone said. “Let’s kill them all now!”

“No!” G’Kar couldn’t figure out where they were, so he just glared at the crowd. “There’s probably reinforcements around since the _emperor_ is here! If we stay, we will die!”

“Then we’ll die for Narn!”

“Are you willing to let everyone else here die!?”

Silence.

“Good,” G’Kar said. “We will not let them execute anyone today! Who knows the layout of the building?”

Several hands raised. G’Kar made them leaders of groups and sent everyone out in different ways. He didn’t know how much time Mollari had bought him, so he was getting everyone out while the getting was good.

He took his group through the kitchens, told them to go on without him and that he would catch stragglers. Then G’Kar sat down and waited for Vir.

It felt like hours. It was probably less.  He had spent a lot of time in these kitchens as a young man; they used to be noisy, full of meat roasting and cooks shouting, sometimes politicians and their aides kissing in corners. Now they smelled like dust, and the only sounds were distant footsteps and his own heartbeat. The only light came from a far window.

G’Kar prayed silently. His people had been full of light, candles among the empty lanterns of the Centauri. Now he had to hope that they would not be snuffed along with the lone Centauri that carried light.

When the door creaked open, G’Kar jumped to his feet. The light outside silhouetted a Centauri crest, a knife in one hand, and G’Kar reached to his side for an abandoned cutting board. It would block the knife and it could make very good dents in Centauri heads -

“Wait, no, stop! It’s me, G’Kar!”

The tension drained out of G’Kar. “Vir!” He dropped the cutting board and stumbled to him as Vir closed the door behind him. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m not,” Vir said.

He wasn’t. Vir was a bad liar. But there was something wrong with him. His stance, his face, they were all - wrong.

“Something happened,” G’Kar said. He touched Vir’s chin like Londo did and tipped his face up, but Vir didn’t meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Vir said. “We don’t need to run.”

“We don’t?”

Vir looked up, eyes wet. “The emperor is dead.”

“Shouldn’t that please you?” G’Kar gripped Vir’s shoulders. “What happened? Did Mollari get hurt? Why are you here?”

“I knew you’d be waiting here. I was afraid you’d stay here and get found and get hurt. The Centauri are all scrambled with Cartagia dead, and some of them think it’s because of you. That you scared him to death. If they find you,” Vir said in a single breath, then gasped for air. “If they find you, they won’t vivisect you but you’ll probably be dead anyway.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re so upset. Not about the possibility of me being hurt, not when you’re fixing it now.” G’Kar squeezed Vir’s shoulders and added softly: “Tell me.”

“I, I,” Vir whispered, “I killed him.”

G’Kar’s heart froze. “What? Mollari made you -  He made you kill Cartagia?!” he snarled.

“No, no,” Vir whispered, “It’s not like that! Be quiet! They’ll hear us.” He put his finger to G’Kar’s lips. “Cartagia knocked away Londo and he was going to kill him, so I picked up the needle and did it, did it for him. He would have killed Londo otherwise.”

G’Kar felt something in Vir’s other hand and brought it up. He was still holding a small stick - the poisoned needle, G’Kar realized, now hidden in it’s sheath. G’Kar had never used such a weapon before, but he had no doubt Vir would have had to drive it into Cartagia’s chest, felt the life drain out of him -

And Vir had been drained with him.

Where was the light in his face? Vir had it days ago, on the ship. His face was dark now, eyes shadowed. He was emptied out, a husk, a shell, like all the other Centauri.

“What have they done to you?” G’Kar whispered.

Vir looked up, brow furrowing. “What?”

“They’ve,” G’Kar said. He felt his breath catching in his throat. “They’ve ruined you. Your light is gone.”

“What are you talking about, G’Kar?”

He didn’t want Vir to end up like the others. He didn’t want him to end up like Mollari, gambling with lives for his own power, or like Cartagia, who killed for fun. He didn’t want him to be like those he’d fought in the war, or to join the royal court who watched murder for sport. He didn’t want him to be Mariel, who had killed to protect herself for so long that it had become a habit, and the love had drained from her heart.

He didn’t want to lose Vir, G’Kar realized. He didn’t want him to turn into another Centauri. And there was still a chance that he wouldn’t; he was in tears from this murder, he didn’t want it, he wasn’t going to fall like Mollari, like Cartagia, like Mariel, like G’Kar -

“You’re empty,” G’Kar breathed, and he pulled Vir to his chest in a tight embrace. 

Vir made a confused noise and let G’Kar hold him for one moment, two, three. Then Vir pushed G’Kar away. “I should go now,” Vir said, “and so should you. We’re both in danger. Please go. I don’t want there to be any more deaths.”

G’Kar swallowed, nodded. “I’ll try not to die,” he said. “Be careful.”

“I will,” said Vir, and smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.

G’Kar nodded. Vir went back through the door; the light engulfed him for a moment before the door swung shut, leaving an imprint of his silhouette against the darkness.

G’Kar left. He could do no more for Vir. He was in Mollari’s hands, along with Narn.

He didn’t know whether it was funny or sad that he trusted him with both.


	8. Light on Meltwater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after 4x5, The Long Night.

Londo put Vir to bed as soon as they were on the ship back to Centauri Prime, and now he was waking up with what Londo assumed was the biggest hangover Vir had endured in his life. He looked even paler than normal, and going by the way his hand was covering his mouth, he was queasy to boot. Londo dimmed the lights so that they wouldn’t hurt Vir’s eyes and walked over to him.

“Drink and eat this,” Londo whispered. He set a glass of water and a bowl full of snicks on Vir’s bedside table, then put a bucket in Vir’s lap. “Here’s a bucket if you feel last night coming back up.”

“Thanks, Londo,” Vir whispered back. He leaned on the bucket for support, then grabbed the water with shaking hands and drank deeply.

Londo sat at the end of the bed. He’d spent most of the last few hours arranging things back on homeworld, assuring Virini that no one would order him executed for it and talking him out of panicking, and ordering several megatons of explosives to be shipped to Celini. It was going to be a tight squeeze, but they would eradicate every last Shadow influence from their world.

Since that was done, he could take care of Vir.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked.

Vir put the water down as if afraid he could break it and leaned forward on the bucket. “I feel like a spoo farm ran over my head.”

“You look like it,” Londo said. “Eat. That will make you feel better. If you drink all your water, I’ll bring you more.”

“You don’t have to, Londo. I’m your aide. I should be taking care of you,” Vir said.

Londo put his hand on the bucket before Vir could try to stand. “No. You’ve been taking care of me for the past three years. It’s my turn to take care of you.”

Vir blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. You’re in no shape to be on your feet in any case. I can get you a book if you need something quiet to do.” Londo patted Vir’s knee under the covers. “Try to relax.”

“Relax,” Vir said as if tasting the word, then slumped in the bucket. “How can I? The Vorlons will attack our world in less than three days, we only barely got away with killing Cartagia and I’m a murderer.”

“You did it for the good of Centauri Prime, Vir,” Londo said. “If I could have done it, if I could have spared you it, I would have done it in a heartbeat.”

“I know. I know you would have.” Vir stared into the bucket, then looked up at Londo. His eyes were bloodshot, and the skin under them was bruises on clammy skin. “What about G’Kar? We just left him there. Will he be alright?”

Londo thought of G’Kar in the cell, still and smiling and his one eye burning; of G’Kar fighting the guards, a whirlwind of copper and fire. He thought of how he had heard G’Kar organizing the Narns so they were out of the way of frightened, angry nobles. He remembered how G’Kar had touched his face gently, once, and asked Londo if he could see a world where Londo was better -

“I think he will be fine. He managed to break through chains of solid kirilium and fight off an entire platoon of soldiers! People are already saying that he killed Cartagia by scaring him to death. The Narns will probably make him their king, which should please him.” Londo smiled.

“I don’t think he wants to be king. Remember when he was working against us during the war? He always reported to that council of Narns on-station.” Vir picked up a piece of snicks and put it in his mouth, chewed gingerly. “He doesn’t want to rule. He wants to help people. I think he’ll go back to Babylon 5.”

“I doubt it. I think he will help rebuild Narn,” Londo said. “Just as we would stay if Centauri Prime was harmed to help pick up the pieces.”

“But it’s more useful for him to be on Babylon 5! He knows how the station works, and he helps run security with Mr. Garibaldi, and I bet he’d want aid sent to Narn.” Vir swallowed and shuddered. “He knows everyone sent by the League, and the staff, and he’s helping fight the Shadows. He would go back.”

“What you think he'd miss the chance to the celebration? They're probably worshipping him down there.”

“Didn’t you give up a chance to become emperor?” Vir countered, then winced at how loud his voice was. “His world is in ruins. He has no time to be loved. He loves them too much to let himself stop.”

Londo huffed and smiled. “You have a point. We’ll probably see him there when we return, when Centauri Prime is safe.”

“Do you think we can do it?”

“We will do it. It doesn’t bear thinking otherwise.” Londo watched Vir carefully eat another nut. “I don’t plan to spend what might be my last few days worrying about it.”

Vir choked on the nut. “Don’t say that! I don’t want to think about you dying.”

“Then don’t. Eat.” Londo patted Vir’s leg again.

Vir choked down a few more pieces of snicks and dry-heaved into the bucket. Londo stayed by his side and refilled his water glass a few times until he got a call from Centauri Prime.

“I have to take this. It’s about the Shadows,” Londo said, and stood. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Wait!” Vir called. Londo turned to him. “Before you go, um, you should know. I saw G’Kar after Cartagia died. He asked if you were safe, and he told me to be safe. So, so,” and he groaned and leaned into the bucket. “Just go, Londo.”

Londo went to his quarters, where the call was waiting, and answered it. He didn’t let his thoughts race about G’Kar until he had worked out what to do with the explosives on Selini and had the intercom safely off.

_Londo, can you see it?_

A world where the glacier and the boulder became the soil that flowers grew in. A world where he could be better.

Maybe he was already making it. G’Kar had saved both their worlds, even if he hadn’t meant to do it, and now Londo would save them both too. G’Kar was too busy trying to help people to stop and let himself be loved, too busy with his work, with his world, too busy except for -

_Londo, can you see it?_

Except for him, for Londo Mollari.

Maybe Londo could make that world happen. Shadows defeated, Vorlons deflected, Narn rebuilding, Centauri Prime freed of Cartagia; they could start again.

Londo poured brivari for himself, water for Vir, and went back to toast the future they would make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate summery: Taking down a sadistic emperor with a party of three isn't easy, especially when one of the three is being tortured by the emperor, the second is a nervous wreck and the third is Londo Mollari. Vir, G'Kar and Londo only have each other to rely on; that will have to be enough to survive Cartagia.


End file.
